Drowning Sorrows
by Annabel Lee
Summary: Scully is slightly inebriated... Please R&R! (PG-13 b/c of the alcohol...)


TITLE: Drowning Sorrows  
BY Annabel Lee  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just doing this for fun!  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please! I am absolutely addicted to the stuff!  
DISTRIBUTION: Please just let me know where it will be, and keep my name attached.  
SUMMARY: Scully is slightly inebriated...  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I always wondered how one of these SmashedScully/Mulder fics would turn out if I wrote one... It's actually surprisingly subdued... Hope you like it!  
  


Drowning Sorrows  


  
I'm bored, Scully said abruptly, spinning her chair so that she was facing the general direction of her partner, who was seated across the room at his desk. He looked up from a messy pile of papers at her statement.  
  
You're bored? Mulder was puzzled.  
  
Yes, I'm bored, Scully said once again. And I don't want to be here.  
  
Oh... Okay...  
  
Scully let out a loud, impatient sigh at this. It's Friday afternoon. We're not going to get much more done. I've been staring at these folders for hours on end, not doing a damn thing. I'm bored! she complained, head thrown back so that she looked angrily at the ceiling. Mulder was still silent, unsure of what to say. Another sigh escaped Scully's lips and she stood to grab her coat as she strode towards the office door. I'm out of here. See you on Monday, Mulder.  
  
Wait, what? You're leaving? He looked extremely confused at this un-Scully-ish display of spontaneity.  
  
Yes, I'm leaving. I can't be here right now, it's just one of those days. With that, she was gone. Mulder decided against chasing after her; his partner just needed some alone time. He would call her later that evening to check up on how she was doing. That was the best thing to do, wasn't it?  
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Scully dropped her keys onto a nearby table surface, balled her coat up, and tossed it into a chair. A few moments later, she found herself resting against the kitchen counter of her apartment, in a daze. What an awful day. On the ride to work that morning she had found herself cursing the successful businessman with the briefcase, the joggers jogging together along the sidewalk, the young woman with the baby carriage, everyone. I bet that man has an office on the fifth floor of his building, with a desk of his very own. I bet those people have time to jog every morning and every evening if they choose. I bet that woman has a husband and a minivan and a dog and a white picket fence and... the little voice in her head went on and on.  
  
It was too much to take. Scully suddenly turned around and whipped open the cupboard behind her. Jackpot. She reached up and grasped the cool bottle of vodka in her well-manicured hands. Uncapping the bottle quickly, she took a swig. The little redhead coughed violently and made a disgusted face, but took one more gulp before actually looking for a glass. She found a carton of orange juice in the refrigerator and poured some into her glass. After taking a sip, she proceeded to dump some vodka into the OJ. She was starting to feel a little better already...  
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Mulder's phone was ringing when he entered his apartment. After throwing his coat at a chair, where it slid to the floor, he picked up the handset. he said, yawning.  
  
Mom? You sound different... a woman slurred into the phone.  
  
Scully?! Are you okay? You sound kind of... sick... Something had been up with this woman all day, and now she was acting even stranger. Mulder started to worry.  
  
What are you talking about Mom? I'm fine, you're the one that sounds like a man... And since when do you call me Scully? It's Dana. Day-na. DAY-na! You named me, for Christ's sake...  
  
That did it. Mulder ran over to retrieve his coat from the floor, saying Scully, I'm coming right over! Don't go anywhere! He hung up, tossed the phone towards the couch, and ran for the door, slamming it behind him. He was worried about what had happened to his partner. Either she had been drugged by someone and was perhaps being held hostage in her own home, or she was drunk. The latter seemed more probable, and less scary, in his opinion.  
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That's it, Mom, I'm hanging up. If you can't call me by my own name, then I don't want to speak to you anymore. I'm taking you off speed-dial, too! SO THERE! Scully pushed the littleOff' button on the phone as hard as she could and began to cry.  
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Mulder banged on Scully's door frantically, calling her name. When she didn't answer, he panicked. Suddenly, he remembered his extra key and fished it out of his pocket, feeling like an idiot. The door swung open at last, revealing a disheveled Scully across the room, slumped over a table with her head on her arms; a telephone sat silently nearby. he said timidly, afraid of what was wrong.  
  
I told you not to call me that! she screamed into her folded arms without moving her head. Mulder started at the sound of his partner's voice.  
  
Um, sorry... he said, confused.  
  
Scully slowly turned her head so that she could peek out from over her arm at the visitor. She sat up quickly. she exclaimed. Mulder looked at her sadly, but she just grinned at him and jumped out of her seat to run (stumble) over to him. Scully gave the tall, surprised man a big hug, saying Mulder! I'm so glad you're here! My mother has been just awful. I called her because I was sad, but she made it worse. You always make me feel better. Make me feel better!  
  
You're... Oh my God, Scully, you're drunk! He was appalled, but the smell of her breath and the slur in her words confirmed that the worst had happened. Yes, Dana Scully was plastered.  
  
she offered, pointing to the vodka and orange juice by the phone. I can make a whole pitcher if you want... She turned to head off into the kitchen, but Mulder grabbed her forearm and gently pulled her back into place in front of him. He put his hands on either side of her face.  
  
Scully, what happened? What's wrong? The look in his eyes was tragic. He couldn't believe that this woman would do something so stupid.  
  
She blinked, trying to focus her eyes on him. Will you help me take Mom off the speed dial? A hurt look spread across her face. Who could say no?  
  
he agreed in a quiet voice. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he slowly led her to to the table where the phone was sitting. She put a finger on her mother's name to point it out. Mulder couldn't help but notice that it was right above his own name.  
  
Here you go... he whispered as he pulled the little card out from the plastic and erased the name with a nearby pencil. All gone.  
  
Scully looked at the card blankly, saying, That was easier than I thought it would be... Thanks Mulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed in his scent. More tears welled up in her eyes. She bit her lip, trying to hold them back.  
  
So are you going to tell me what's wrong? he asked, putting his arms around her.  
  
I'm very drunk, she murmured. They were silent for a few moments, and she said But not drunk enough.  
  
Oh, I disagree with that, Mulder said gently, pulling her off of him so that he could look at her again. He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arms length.  
  
I called Mom...  
  
Yes, I know you called her. You said you were sad. Why were you sad, Scully?  
  
I have nothing, she said simply. When Mulder made no reply, she turned her head and reached out for the vodka that was still on the table. She drank straight from the bottle and blinked. Mulder made no move to take it away from her; he just stood, looking at the empty air with his tragic eyes. Scully finally pushed the bottle into his stomach after a few moments of silence, and he took it. He looked down solemnly at the bottle in his hands, then sighed. After taking a quick swallow of the clear liquid, he made a face.  
  
You had the right idea about using orange juice with this stuff. She nodded and wiped her wet eyes with her fingertips.  
  
I'll get you a glass, she whispered, heading for the kitchen.  
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Almost an hour later, the two agents were slouching pathetically on the sofa. Their glasses, the carton of orange juice, and the vodka were sitting on the table in front of them. They looked terrible. They felt worse.  
  
We've had this conversation a million times before, Scully said.  
  
I know. But we need to. We need to keep reminding ourselves why we're here and not off being successful and buying baby clothes and puppy food and... and happy things like that. Mulder looked at his palms. Are we unhappy, Scully? he asked.  
  
No, we're just wasted. She smiled at him.  
  
I bet I'm wasteder.  
  
Scully laughed. S'not a word, she slurred.  
  
Are you always grammatically correct when you're sloshed? Mulder asked.  
  
I dunno... I haven't done this in a while. She pondered. Maybe I'm still not drunk enough.  
  
Well, we're out of vodka.  
  
Got beer in the fridge.  
  
We're gonna need our stomachs pumped, groaned Mulder.  
  
Another drink and I'll be sweating alcohol, Scully sighed to herself and sat quietly. I'll make coffee she said suddenly, trying to get up. She fell back down onto the couch immediately and needed a firm shove from Mulder to get up again. He sat and watched her stumble away. The resounding clangs and sounds of struggle emanating from the kitchen made him smile through a large yawn.  
  
I'm back. Water should boil soon... You awake? Scully asked upon her return.  
  
Mulder sat up quickly at the sound of her voice, blinking his eyes. Huh? Yeah, yeah kinda. Coffee'll wake me up.  
  
As a medical doctor, I know that when you're crocked you aren't supposed to drink coffee... We shouldn't drink coffee. Caffeine is bad... furthers the dehydration... Scully stated randomly, not bothering to finish her sentence.  
  
Do all medical doctors use the word Mulder joked, and she laughed. After a long pause, he asked You don't do this lots, do you Scully?  
  
No, not lots. But there are just those days when all you wanna do is go home and drown your sorrows in a nice cold bottle of booze, you know? the little agent said. Mulder nodded drunkenly. I mean, usually a quart of ice cream would do the trick, but then there are just some things that call for somethin' stronger...  
  
Well, Scully, her partner said, leaning forward to pick up the empty glasses. He handed one to her. Here's to drowning sorrows, and hoping that they don't need to be drowned again for a long, long time. He raised his glass and Scully followed suit, laughing at the absurdity of making a toast with empty vessels.  
  
Leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch, Mulder put his arms around Scully in a loose sort of hug. She snuggled in closer, arms wrapping around him, and sighed contentedly. Both agents were soon lost in drunken slumber, the steady whistle of the forgotten kettle wailing gently in the background.  
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End file.
